


words for my soul(mate)

by Paramour_Party



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25251490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paramour_Party/pseuds/Paramour_Party
Summary: Bucky was sitting on his bed, pen uncapped and poised just over the skin above his knee. If nothing happened, his life wouldn’t change, he’d forget all about this soulmate business and move on.Or the Soulmate AU where you write on your skin and it shows up on theirs.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Hermione Granger, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 52
Kudos: 261
Collections: Marvelously Magical Bingo 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for the Marvelously Magical Fanfiction BINGO 2020 writing event on Facebook. 
> 
> Prompt: O3 - Soulmates
> 
> I also skewed the HP timeline a little, so the cast is almost a decade younger than canon. They’re all born in the late 80s now.

* * *

The first time he noticed writing show up on someone's skin, Bucky was sitting in Tony's lab. He watched the other man patiently fix some damage his metal arm took on the last mission.

He'd only been with the Avengers for a few months and it was surprisingly… normal. Sure there was still some hesitancy from the team where he is concerned, which he wholeheartedly understood. But he honestly expected more hostility; more cold shoulders. Instead, he got a welcoming warm home with friendly and sometimes sarcastic banter.

Tony was leaning in closer to his metal bicep carefully extracting something that managed to get stuck beneath a plate. That was when Bucky saw writing appear on Tony's arm by his wrist. Letter by letter, neat straight writing. _Did you promise to pick Peter up to avoid a meeting?_ The way the writing got darker and darker as seconds passed made it look like a tattoo.

He blinked when Tony swore, also looking at the writing on his arm. "Damn. I forgot I had a meeting this afternoon," he mumbled, "Oh well."

Bucky's thoughts on the mysteriously appearing words were derailed when Tony sat back, setting his tools on the table. He dropped small pieces of metal shrapnel into a square container. "Looks like you're set, Fullmetal."

"Thank you, Tony," he said.

"No, thank you," Tony returned, "I've been thinking, how about we change up your arm? I'm sure you don't like walking around with HYDRA tech. Maybe you wanna work on a new one with me?"

He thought it over surprised by the idea. He'd resigned himself to having this arm for the rest of his life. "If you have the time?" he said, "I think I would really like that."

"I'll make the time! Hey, would you mind if Underoos joins in on the project? I think it'll keep him busy and out of trouble for at least two weeks."

They shared a quiet laugh. The kid was a handful on some days, and the team tried their best to keep him out of the worst of the trouble he somehow always managed to find himself in. "Sure. As long as I don't end up with a red metal arm at the end of the day, I'd be okay with it."

They were walking out of the lab, Tony going on and on about how great the colour red was and Bucky forgot all about the strange writing.

* * *

The next morning he was at the kitchen island with Nat. Tony walked in covering a large yawn with his left hand. Bucky's brows furrowed when he remembered the words that appeared yesterday were somehow gone.

He wondered if he misremembered. He frowned but didn't mention anything, content to just continue eating his breakfast. Nat was busy cutting fruit and putting it in a blender. "Morning, Tony. You think Pepper would like a smoothie?" she asked.

Tony mostly hummed an answer. Without his bowl-sized mug of coffee, it was hard to get him going this early in the morning if he'd gone to bed at a reasonable hour the night before. Bucky watched as Tony pulled the magnetic pen from the fridge and instead of writing on the reminder notepad like he thought he would, Tony wrote on his hand.

"Yes, she would like one, please," Tony mumbled moments later as he pulled his mug from a cupboard and walked over to the coffee machine.

When he was set, Tony came next to Bucky stealing a piece of bacon from his plate.

Whatever Bucky was about to retort about the theft fell from his lips as he stared at Tony's hand. There, in Tony's messy writing, _Want a Nat-smoothie?_ and right underneath was the same neat writing from yesterday. _Yes, please._

Just as Natasha was done blending and pouring two smoothies into a thermos, Pepper, ready to take on the day in her pressed dress, high heels, and sleek pinned back hair, came into the kitchen with a bright smile. "Thanks, Nat. I owe you one," and like the busy whirlwind the woman was, she was gone after a quick kiss on Tony's cheek. Her left hand holding her newly acquired smoothie had Tony's messy writing on it with her own writing just underneath. _Want a Nat-smoothie?_ and _Yes, please._ was dark against her pale skin.

Bucky hid his confusion behind his own mug of coffee. Maybe Tony was trying out some new communication tech with Pepper.

* * *

When Bucky saw the weird skin writing thing happen again, it was two weeks after seeing it on Tony's arm. This time it was on Steve. It was a small text appearing at the bend of his left arm. _Late._ was all it said. He can tell from the way the letter L was capitalized and looping who wrote it. He recognized the writing from mission reports. It was Sam's.

"You too?" Bucky asked as he sat closer to Steve.

"Hmm?"

They were sitting in the living room, Steve engrossed in his sketchbook and him reading a book recommended by Peter.

"The writing thing," Bucky pointed out. "Is Tony testing new tech?"

Steve paused, a surprised and somewhat guilty look in his eyes as he glanced down to his arm and back up to him. "Oh. You don't know."

Now it was Bucky's turn to be confused. "What do you mean?"

His best friend closed his sketchbook and placed his things down onto the coffee table. "Sorry, Buck. I didn't think you might not remember." He cleared his throat and showed his arm and the writing to him. "It's… it's not technology. The way it was explained to us when we were younger, is sometimes someone could have a soulmate. From your eighteenth birthday, if you write on your skin, the words would show up on your soulmate too."

Bucky frowned. "I don't remember this back in the day," he said touching the word on Steve's arm. "Was this a thing, back then too?"

Steve nodded. "It was, but neither of us had anyone respond. We thought it might be because whoever they were, they hadn't turned eighteen yet." He smiled sheepishly.

Bucky made a face. "What would it mean if you hadn't been frozen in ice, you old man."

Steve laughed. "I knew you'd ask that. But having a soulmate doesn't necessarily mean romantic. The fact that Sam and I ended up that way just worked. And… and maybe it was the way it was meant to be anyway?" he shrugged and Bucky let go of his arm.

"Is it always them left arm? I think I saw it on Tony too."

Steve thought it over. "No. It's just easier for us right-handed folk, I guess."

Bucky stared at his metal arm and frowned wondering if he'd had a soulmate who probably wrote to him while he was frozen or working as a brainwashed killing machine. If someone out there had been waiting for an answer and never got one. Steve pulled him close by the shoulder. "Buck, don't go down that dark train of thought."

He huffed but accepted the hug and shook away the guilt he felt. He probably didn't have a soulmate anyway.

* * *

Now that he was aware of it, he could see it everywhere. People in public glancing down or writing on their hands or arms. He could see it more in the younger generations, he can tell when the writing is new for a person, shy smiles on their faces and long texts as they slowly got to know their soulmates. Other times the words, on who he assumed held longer formed relationships with their partners looked mundane. Questions, lists, reminders. Often, it was simple words of affection. Sometimes not even words, just simple drawn hearts.

He sat on his bed with a pen in hand. He wondered if there was someone out there who had waited for a response from him and had given up. It was nearing three in the morning, sleepless night after dreaming about having a soulmate.

Hesitantly, he uncapped the pen and held it just above his knee. He didn't feel comfortable enough writing with his left hand to mark his right arm. HYDRA didn't need him to write things with both hands, only to wield weapons.

Was the knee an appropriate spot to write? He wondered. If someone was on the other side, would they think it strange? Would they even see it? What does he even write? Does he keep it simple or write an explanation?

He capped the pen closed without writing a word.

* * *

Steve knew right away that he hadn't slept well when he showed up at the gym the next morning. "Buck," he said in that worried tone of his. In it was a loaded silent question that he didn't want to answer. Not yet. He needed to think about it first.

Instead, he shrugged his hoodie off. "What, you punk?" he asked. "You think missing out on a little sleep means I won't be able to whoop your ass?"

Sam snorted from where he was jogging around the perimeter with Peter who was watching the two of them with fascination. Steve rolled his eyes and settled in for the spar, "Jerk," he mumbled.

"I heard that."

"Good, at least we know your hearing ain't going out with the old age."

"As if you're not as old."

"What are they arguing about?" Peter asked Sam in that not-so-quiet whisper of his.

Sam shrugged. "Who even knows man." They stopped their run to watch the two of them deck it out in a more brawl-like style, a change from their usual coordinated training. "Let's… just leave them to it."

* * *

He was in Tony's lab with Peter the following weekend. Tony had stepped out to take a very important call he pressed ignore on four times in the last two hours until Pepper came in with that stern not quite yell to get Tony to do her bidding.

Bucky listened to Peter ramble on and on about school when he had a thought. He sat up straighter looking at Peter trying to remember how old he was. "You eighteen yet, kid?"

Peter froze, wide-eyed and surprised by the sudden change in subject. "Uhh. No? I mean. No," he said more firmly after his voice cracked. He put down the tablet he was working on to stare at him in confusion. "Why?"

He rubbed at his cheek glancing away for a moment to think about how to ask. "I… I was recently reminded of something. The whole soulmate thing. With the writing?"

The younger kid jumped forward in excitement. "Did you have someone?" He froze again remembering the Winter Soldier history and winced. "Ahh," he faltered unsure of what to say.

Bucky laughed dryly and pat the kid on the shoulder reassuring him. "Steve said back then neither of us had someone write back. But during the in-between. I don't know. Can't remember and wouldn't have noticed if any writing came up anyway."

Peter nodded in understanding. "Are you gonna try?" he asked, "Writing I mean?"

"Haven't decided. Don't know what to write. I'm technically a centennial, what could I even say?" he paused realizing he was just unloading all of the questions that plagues him on the poor kid. "What would you write? Is that too personal to ask?"

Peter sat on the table, legs swinging as he thought. "I don't think it's personal. Most people just start with hello." He laughed. "I've been trying to think of something clever for my eighteenth birthday. But I haven't thought of which one to use yet."

He chuckled. He could easily imagine the kid writing large blocks of witty text to his soulmate. He let Peter brainstorm some ideas for him, not having the heart to tell him he was probably never going to write on his skin with the intention of waiting for an answer.

The kid was intuitive though. He lulled in his rambling and looked up at him with Bambi eyes. "Are you worried about it?" he asked.

Bucky didn't frown but it was a near thing. "Not worried… mostly... resigned."

"Would it be better knowing no matter what at least you tried? Even if the end wasn't what you wanted? Or would you be okay with all the what-ifs?" Peter asked. "It's what May reminds me whenever I worry over something."

He reached out ruffling Peter's hair and ignoring his indignant 'hey'. "Your Aunt May is a smart woman," he said affectionately.

Peter grinned up at him all bright. "I know."

* * *

It was an early morning three days later. Bucky was sitting on his bed, pen uncapped and poised just over the skin above his knee. If nothing happened, his life wouldn't change, he'd forget all about this soulmate business and move on. But. there was always a but.

If on the rare chance someone did write back. Even if it was for a short while. Wouldn't it be nice to know that there was someone out there, who was ideally suited to him?

Pushing past the hesitation, he put pen to skin. _Hello_. He wrote a little shaky but resolved to be neater. _I don't know if you've ever tried to write to me before, but if you have, I'm sorry you had to wait a long time for me to write you back_.

He paused, unsure if he should write more. What could he say?

With a groan, he flopped back onto his bed throwing an arm over his eyes. What's done is done, he couldn't take it back. He threw the pen onto his bedside table or at least in that direction. Now, he just had to wait. He sighed. He could do that. If someone had written to him once, they would have likely waited for decades. The least he could do was to try and wait patiently.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione froze, chip halfway up to her lips, when she felt a line of warmth bloom above her knee. Harry, who was sitting across from her eating his own lunch, rose a brow. "What?"

She cleared her throat. "Nothing. Nothing. Just had a thought," she said shoving her chip into her mouth, chewing slowly to avoid saying more. Harry's eyes told her he was suspicious but he knew better than to pester her.

Ron's return to the table saved her from Harry's stare. "Next round's on you, Harry," he said as he passed along the pints of beer, reclaiming his seat and digging into the rest of his lunch. They were in a muggle pub, the three of them off from work at the same time for a change. On days like these, they usually ventured away from the wizarding world, blending in with the crowds unnoticed made hanging out a little more private.

Hermione used the distraction to discreetly pull the hem of her dress up over her knees. She shifted in her seat, crossing her right leg over her left. Heart racing, she glanced down and bit her lower lip to prevent her gasp from escaping.

 _Hello._ It said. The penmanship was a sharp and neat cursive she didn't see many people use much these days. Just beneath the simple greeting, her soulmate added: _I don't know if you've ever tried to write to me before, but if you have, I'm sorry you had to wait a long time for me to write you back._

She smoothed down the hem of her dress and stood abruptly. "I- I'll be right back," she said ignoring the surprised looks on her best friends' faces as she rushed to the loo. Locked in one of the stalls, she dropped down on top of the toilet seat. Her hand hesitated over the hem of her dress worried she imagined it; worried that when she looked again, the writing would be gone. She sucked in a sharp breath when she checked.

There over her knee, her soulmate's writing was still visible; darkened words like a tattoo across her skin. She rubbed her thumb against the word Hello as if to wipe it away but it stayed. Hermione stared at it for a moment longer in disbelief. She read it again. And again. As if reading it over and over would change the words right before her eyes.

How strange... to have the first message on the knee. she thought. Everyone she knew always wrote on their arms or hands for the sake of convenience. Her thumb brushed against the rest of the words.

Quickly, she fumbled to pull her mobile from her dress pocket and snapped a photo. She knew, from watching others, the words only lasted as long as the other person left their ink on their skin and the sentimental part of her wanted to keep this.

She fumbled again, her other hand digging through her pockets cursing her habit of adding undetectable extension charms to all of them. Merlin knows, women's pockets were made to barely fit a handful of peanuts these days. Pen in hand, she clicked it and then she paused.

What should she write? She had so many questions. Which one should she ask first? She tapped her chin in thought. Well, the polite thing to do was probably wish them a happy birthday. They must have just turned eighteen.

Hermione liked to think her writing was tidy; certainly not as swoopy and pretty as her soulmate's cursive, but nice enough. _Hello,_ she wrote back. _And Happy Birthday! Please don't worry too much, I didn't mind waiting._ She bit her lip in thought but continued before she could second guess herself. _I'm happy to know that you're out there._

She didn't have to wait long for an answer. "Oh!" Hermione felt the warmth of their writing bloom across her skin again, watching letters slowly loop together on her thigh. It was fascinating to watch her soulmate’s careful strokes of the pen.

_Sorry for any confusion. It's not my birthday, though thank you for the thought._

Whatever they were going to write next started with an 'I' but they wiped it until it was just a faint smear. Then, there was a dot. As though they put pen to skin but didn't move. When they finally continued, she had a sense of hesitancy in the slow swoops of their writing.

 _I learned about this phenomenon not too long ago and only now found the courage to see_ \- there was another pause here and Hermione waited patiently- _if there was someone on the other side. I'm happy to know that there is._

She hummed in thought, a small smile tugging at her lips. Questions raced through her mind. There were so many things she wanted to ask and to write but she couldn't spend the rest of her afternoon locked in the loo if they continued. She laughed softly to herself with the thought of hiking her dress up to read the messages in public.

Keeping it as simple as she could, she wrote. _I'm looking forward to getting to know you then! I'm out right now. Would it be okay to write to you in a few hours?_

 _Of course._ They wrote. _I'll be waiting.  
And my name is James. _

Hermione's smile grew. She liked to imagine her soulmate was smiling too. At least, she hoped they were.

_I'm Hermione._

* * *

It was later than she thought it'd be when she got home from her day out with Harry and Ron. Hermione changed out of her dress and sat on her bed, a pen in her right hand and her mobile in her left. On her bedside table, she prepared a packet of wipes to clear the ink if the conversation went on.

The words on her thigh had already been wiped away, her own pen marks faded but she'd taken another photo on her mobile before she stepped out of the loo. She stared at the photo, zooming in and out studying the handwriting. The way her soulmate wrote their name. The start of the J had a little curl to it and there was a hint of a flourish at the end of the s.

Dropping her mobile onto the pillow next to her, she focused on her leg. They must have started writing on the thigh for a reason so she'd might as well continue there. _Hello again_. She wrote in the same spot they'd written their first greeting. Anticipation ate away at her as she sat there waiting. She knew realistically, they might not be available right away, and no matter how long she'd stare at her skin for, she wouldn't be able to summon a faster response.

After five minutes of waiting and no response, she pulled a book from a stack she had on the floor by her bed to pass the time.

As she was reaching the end of a second chapter, she felt that same blooming warmth brush along her thigh. _Hello, Hermione_. A smile lifted the corners of her lips, the flourish they put when writing her name was beautiful.

Pen in hand again, she flicked the cap off and began to write. _You have beautiful penmanship. I hope your day went well?_

 _Thank you._ James wrote. _I'm having a bit of a lazy day. But otherwise, it is. Going well I mean. How is your day going?_

Something about the tone James was writing in lit a Lumos charm in her mind's eye, and she uttered a quiet 'oh'. _I'm getting the feeling we're in different timezones?_ She wrote _, evening's just started where I am._

James's response was quick. _Oh._ He replied, _it's only 1 PM here. I'm in New York._

"Huh." Honestly, Hermione should have expected something like that with how many people there were in the world.

_I'm in London. And to your question, I had a really lovely day._

They squeezed as much small talk as they could (what it’s like on their side of the world/the weather/plans for the rest of the day/evening) on their right thigh. Although James made an effort not to pass mid-thigh she noticed. Soon though, they'd wrapped all along the sides.

She watched as James's words were wiped away and Hermione rushed for the pack of wipes to clear the ink on her own skin.

 _Is it okay for me to be writing on the legs? Are there any places you're not comfortable with or prefer?_ These words appeared a moment after.

_Yes, legs are fine. I suppose I'll have to think about preferences and such. How about you?_

_Please not your left arm. I won't be able to see it._

Hermione paused and then nodded to herself. _Let's keep it simple and stick to legs then_.

She moved from her bedroom to her kitchen to start preparing for dinner. When they filled their right thigh with more writing for the second time, instead of wiping it all away, they simply moved onto their left leg and continued their little game of twenty questions (favourite dinosaur? hers: triceratops, James: stegosaurus. favourite dessert? hers: honey plum tarts, James: apple pie. Cat or Dog? both: cat).

 _You said it wasn't your birthday_ , she started, _can I ask when it is, and how old are you?_

She was seated at her dining table, the quick pasta dish she cooked not keeping her full attention. Briefly, she thought she might have asked something personal too soon because it took James longer to answer this time. They'd kept things light and fun until then. But, she could just be over thinking it. It was afternoon there and they could be busy. She tried to reason.

Partway through her meal, her left thigh warmed with James' writing.

_March 10th. I'm a centennial. Can I ask the same?_

Hermione gave a surprised laugh a little confused and unsure if they were joking. _Are you really a centennial? My birthday is September 19th. I'm 28._

_It feels like I'm a centennial some days. I'm 34._

Now Hermione really had more questions. She knew he hadn't been aware of the marks until recently, but he would have been 23 when she first wrote. And then she winced. She did write little comments on her left arm throughout her eighteenth birthday, which might explain how he would have missed it.

With that, they moved on continuing the conversation for as long as they could. James though, must have noticed the time on her side. _You said you had work early tomorrow?_ James wrote.

Hermione glanced at the time, surprised at how quickly it flew by. _I didn't realize!_ She replied. _I should get some sleep._

_Have a good night, Hermione._

_Enjoy the rest of your day, James._

Hermione couldn't keep the smile from her face as she fell asleep that night.

* * *

She'd been writing to James for almost three weeks. A lot of it just learning about each other and their days. She found humor in the way he described his friends, a lot of his days seemingly filled with light-hearted banter and interesting people. He never pushed for information that might have been considered too personal and she was actually surprised when the question for a phone number, or even a social media account never came up.

Her favourite thing was waking up in the morning, to find his commentary of the rest of his day on her left leg. He often left her right thigh clear for her responses. In the last week, they spent most of their time writing about books, a common interest that Hermione was relieved to find. 

She found herself enjoying the distant company. Some days, when the conversation lulled, they simply enjoyed little games. Hangman or noughts and crosses were the common ones. They'd attempted pictionary but neither of their art skills were all that great, though it did provide great entertainment. She hoped he was laughing with her on the other side.

Hermione woke up that morning, her left thigh had the usual small commentary. But on her right, was a beautifully written _Good Morning, Hermione._ James had spent some time on it. He'd written her name with a decorative flourish, the swoops and swirls from the starting H and the ending e turned into little vines with simple flowers and leaves. Better than anything she could do, honestly. _Have a great day_. Was underneath in simpler cursive.

It was at Sunday brunch at the Burrow, when someone finally noticed something was different. They'd finished eating and were just lounging around in the living room. Arthur, Percy and George were on the couch, heads bent together in a low discussion. Fleur and Molly were still in the kitchen, preparing snacks.

Hermione was talking to Bill by the window, closer to the cool summer breeze coming in. He was telling her about a new curse-breaking theory he was working on when he paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Whatever it is you're scheming, know that I am faster than you at hexing," he said.

Hermione turned to see Ron, Harry, and Ginny approaching. Ginny was smirking, Harry had that I'm-curious-but-Hermione-is-scary-so-tread-carefully look, and Ron. Well… he just stared at her expecting her to break under the pressure of whatever his unasked question was.

"Contrary to popular belief, Ron, I don't know Legilimens," she said.

He rose a brow in challenge and she squared her shoulders. "We're best friends right, Hermione?" he finally asked. Harry in the background was facepalming. "And best friends tell each other everything, right?"

She huffed. "Well, I don't know about everything. But yes, we're best friends."

"So, you're saying then, that you're keeping secrets from us?"

"What?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and cut into the conversation, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Ron thinks you're seeing someone."

Ron pulled Harry closer into the circle and Bill watched on in amusement. "Tell her, Harry! You noticed it too!"

Harry shrugged. "I only mentioned that I noticed that you were in a good mood lately. I mean. Not that you weren't in a good mood before. Just that-"

Hermione held a hand up to cut off his ramble.

"And," Ron chose to continue in his stead, "You've been wearing dresses almost every day."

"Oh?" Hermione straightened her stance, hands on her hips. "I'm not allowed to wear dresses almost every day during the summer now? I can't wear dresses for myself, it must be because I'm trying to attract someone's attention?"

Ginny laughed behind her hand. Bill shook his head, groaning behind his own hand mumbling about learning some tact.

Ron faltered slightly at the sight of her I'm-going-to-curse-you-to-the-ends-of-the-earth stance. "I didn't know you owned this many dresses!" He sputtered, then he found his resolve pointing, "And! _And!_ You never denied our claims just now! You're deflecting!"

Harry, also finding his own spine, " _Are_ you seeing someone?" he asked from a safe distance away, slightly behind Ginny.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No," she said firmly. "I'm not seeing anyone."

"Then what changed?" asked Bill, who raised his hands in defence at her sharp look. "Something must have changed if they noticed."

She moved to sit on a nearby chair ignoring the sputtering Ron and Harry did as she pulled the hem of her skirt above her knee. "Not that it's any of your business. But I've just made a new friend. That’s all."

Hermione showed them James' last message, it was still there but slightly faded.

Shocked eyes glanced back and forth between her face and the writing on her leg. A collective gasping 'oh!' in understanding.

Between Ginny, Harry, and Ron, she was inundated with questions. She shared a look with Bill in amusement.

"His name is James. No we haven't met, hard to meet when he's in New York," Hermione answered, "we've only started writing a few weeks ago."

"Do you think it'd go anywhere?" asked Ginny.

Ron frowned. "Where would an 18 year old find the money to come all the way to London?" he asked.

The siblings started squabbling, Harry trying to play mediator between them. "To cut your little argument," Hermione interrupted, "He's not 18. He's 34, I don't know the circumstances regarding it all, but he'd only learned about the soulmate writings a while ago."

That brought a pause.

"Well…" Harry started cautiously, "As long as you're safe and happy, whatever happens, will happen right?"

"My thoughts exactly."

Ginny poked her cheek, "If you go to New York, you better bring me with you."

Hermione laughed and pulled Ginny in for a hug, "Of course! We can make a girls' trip out of it."

"Oi! We've been best friends longer! Why won't we get an invite to New York?" Ron asked, trying to tug Ginny away and steal the hug.

Hermione grinned. "We'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the loving support this mini fic is getting! 💕 I’m happy everyone is enjoying it.  
> Come chat with me if you like! I’ve been kind of active on tumblr lately @paramourparty :)


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